


Not Your Baby

by susiephalange



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Reader is Weasel's Cousin, Snark, Stalking, Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader is a bartender and finds she has a stalker. Who she gonna call?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Baby

**Author's Note:**

> DEADPOOL-BUSTERS!  
> Sorry, I just had to.

Luck wasn't your thing. Why would it be? You came from a family of bartenders, and ne'er do wells, and innocent minds broken by the darkness of the world. Luck had not saved many of your family, leaving you under the care of your ragtag smart-mouthed cousin at an early age. No, luck wasn't your thing Your thing was close encounters. Close encounters in every way, shape and form. You'd been almost hit by three trucks, one bolt of lighting, and a stray bullet, but you managed to get through it all relatively unscathed physically. It led you to pursue the family trade, and by the time your school friends were already studying for their second year at college, you were a full time bartender. 

You had your regulars; Reg, who downed a bottle of Jack before noon every day after the passing of his late wife, Frank Castle, who came for shots with bruised knuckles and a bloody nose regularly. You also got the do-gooder type; that Avenger with the arrows came in to chat every Thursday evening. He was nice. 

But there was one person who just wasn't nice. Not that everyone in the damn municipality of Manhattan had to be nice. But this guy...he made your goosebumps rise just by being in the same room. And not in the good, sexy way. It was very unsettling, and made you check twice before leaving every end of shift to make sure he wasn't coming to get you. He made you think of all the close calls you had had in the last lifetime you'd lived, and doubted that you could make it if he set himself on the path of you. 

"...and he's such a creep, he just sits in the corner and doesn't ask for any of the other servers. Not even Beth Big Breasts. Just me. And the way he looks at me - it's so disgusting, Weasel," you vent to your cousin-slash-mentor. It's your night off, and he's still working at the bar he runs. But releasing your inner demons haunting you only helps when it's to him. "And don't you tell me that it's normal, and most guys are like this. You're dead wrong."

He nods. "Yeah, it seems like you have a stalker."

Your eyes widen, and you reach across the bar to smack his arm. "Weasel, don't you say things like that too loudly. We're in a bar for hit-men, and then they'll want a paycheck to kill whoever is on my ass."

The stool beside you scrapes back. "I'll kill anyone on your ass, it's a lovely ass."

Weasel rolls his eyes. "Wade, this is _______. _______, this is Wade."

You rub your face. "Do I have a 'kick me' sign on my back or are you here for some unnecessary flirting, flyboy?" you turn to Wade. He's wearing a black and red mask, and a black hoodie atop of that. "What's up with the facial gear, hitman?"

Weasel chuckles, and slides a pan of beer nuts toward Wade. "He's too ugly to be seen by the general public."

 

 

 

The night is growing elderly by the time you manage to get another breather or even a moment to yourself. You'd been serving non-stop since five, and after the bistro was closed at the round figure of ten, the shady patrons were ambling home to their families or to other bars to continue their crawl. Your shift allowed a five minute break every hour, and this break, you sat in the back room with your phone atop a crate of vodka, reading your messages that have buzzed through. Mary Jane has gotten into her college of choice, and wanted to celebrate next Friday. Weasel sent you gif of Patrick Stump covered in bunnies and baby chickens. Last week's Tinder date sent you hints for another hookup. 

"I hoped you would be in here," a gravelly voice interrupts your scrolling.

Standing in the doorway, is a man you've never seen so close up. He's missing an ear, and has burns across his face, scarring him with a permanent grimace. You're not sure why it doesn't make your stomach turn, but the way his eyes observe you, it's almost like a predator to their prey. 

"I'll scream," you threaten. "Don't touch me."

He chuckles. "You won't get time to scream."

He goes to move toward you, but before you can even scuttle backwards, or even open your mouth to yelp, there's an addition to the terror party. Wearing a black and red suit, it's the guy who complemented your ass at Weasel's bar, and for a moment, you're all but awestruck, and your heart is going off the charts but there's -

"Piss off Deadpool, she's mine," he growls.

The masked man introduced to you as Wade and Deadpool smacks the other man on the shoulder. "She's her own person, buddy-man. It's called feminism, you know, ugly bones."

He scowls. "It's Crossbones, idiot."

All the while they're bickering, your fingers dart silently over the screen of your phone, and discreetly, you dial the emergency services. You slip from the crate and into the shadows behind it, forgotten by the men in the doorway who appear like they're about to have a smack-down of themselves. "Hello, nine-one-one? I'm about to be attacked by the - a villain guy named Crossbones, I'm at..."you whisper.

Five minutes pass, and gathering enough courage, you peer over the crate. 

The man named Crossbones is laying on the ground, with a gun cocked against his head, hands cuffed behind his back. Standing there is Deadpool, or Wade, or whoever he was, and you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Not all twentysomething-year-olds can say they've had a stalker taken down by an antihero. Or whatever type of hitman he is. 

"How am I going to explain this to the cops?" you moan. 

Deadpool shrugs. "I'll be gone by then. But if they're curious, just tell them it was your friendly neighbourhood Deadpool."

You frown. 

"Yeah, and what will I tell Weasel?" you wipe your face. Your cousin was going to go slightly batshit if he found out you'd become a target from one of Captain America's enemies. Or, slightly less apathetic about things around him in general. If you were still against luck, maybe it was for once on your side. Because this was most defiantly a close call. "And this is not what I asked for, anyway. I have no money to pay for what you're doing right now, Deadpool."

The Merc with a Mouth shakes his head. "Not doing it for money, hot sauce. Was kind of hoping we'd go out sometime, catch a movie or something normal. I don't know. You can turn me down, if you like."

From the ground, Crossbones grunts. "Meddler." he snipes.

Deadpool smacks his head with the gun tip. "Shut it. You're not even that great in _Civil War._ "

"What?" you ask. 

Crossbones frowns. "What?"

Deadpool shrugs. "Never mind. Inside joke."

**Author's Note:**

> Logan wakes in the night to the smell of fear. He would die for his daughter, ________. So, naturally, he goes to protect her...from herself.


End file.
